Nothing Else
by Diana Prallon
Summary: Of course, no one had ever accused Derek Hale of making sound decisions when it came to his heart.


It was wrong. It was absolutely wrong.

He should know better than that, he shouldn't… But the softness of the skin against his, it was almost more than he could handle. It spoke to him in urgent, primal levels that were beyond reason.

Of course, no one had ever accused Derek Hale of making sound decisions when it came to his heart.

Because _that_ was the real problem: his heart was very much in this game, perhaps even far more than his body, crazed as it had become by the scent of Stiles.

It was wrong. He should step back – he should push Stiles away, he was so small, it was not as if his body was enough to really pin Derek to the wall.

He had grown, though, in the months since they had seen each other. Not much taller, but his shoulders were wider, his hair was longer, his jaw was firmer. The implacability of his eyes, though, that hadn't changed as he kept demanding Derek to look at him.

They were far too close, and it was obvious by the smell of him that whatever words he may be spitting out at Derek about leaving them behind, about anger, there was unmistakable lust in his body. Derek couldn't feel it, as they weren't properly touching, but the heat emanated from him as if he was a beacon.

Well, for him, Stiles had always been a beacon. Luminous, bright.

Too young. Too human. Too strong.

Derek tried to look away from his eyes, but it was impossible. He saw it when the sudden clarity reached the boy, and his face burnt with shame.

Stiles heartbeat accelerated as he stepped even closer.

Derek knew what it meant he knew what the boy was about to do, and he knew he should stop it before it started – he wouldn't be able to keep himself in check if Stiles touched him.

Stiles, whose eyes were now attached to Derek's lips, moistening his own lips with his tongue.

Derek couldn't avoid the way his breath hitched at the sight. He panted, tried to look away, to find a way out, but Stiles wouldn't have it.

The boy just moved his hands to cradle Derek's head forcefully and kissed him, full on the mouth.

Stiles lips were soft, but his kiss was as strong as his personality. Derek had never imagined it like this – shy, yes. Uncertain, yes. At least when it came to _these_ things, after years pining for Lydia and being ignored.

But now that he was being kissed, he found that Stiles was nothing if not sure about what he was doing. He _knew_ his effect, and he _cherished_ it, as he pressed his mouth strongly against Derek's, licking over Derek's closed mouth.

For a millisecond, Derek wondered _where_ and _how_ the boy had learned such confidence, but the answer was obvious, and just one other reason for him to step away.

He should do this to anyone, and much less to a girl who was his niece. Cousin. Something.

Derek tried to push Stiles away, carefully not to hurt him, but the boy only clang harder to Derek's hair, using it to pull Derek along his own movement, and as Derek's lips parted minimally, he bit into the lower lip, sucking it inside his mouth.

Derek growled, then, all logic and senses forgotten, pulling Stiles to him and opening his mouth to kiss back, his fingers tangling carelessly with Stiles new long hair, and the boy tripped on their feet, leaning against him, and it just made everything worse.

Derek has smelled it, yes, but _feeling_ it was another matter altogether. Stiles body was lean, but something iron hard poked at Derek's hip, and there was no way to doubt what it was. All blood seemed to vanish from his body, travelling down at light speed to his groin.

Never before he had gotten so hard, so fast, and the fact that Stiles used the movement of straightening himself to just thrust madly ahead, causing their cocks to slide against each other made some sort of fog form over Derek's brain. He didn't even notice what he was doing until he had already ripped Stiles' shirt out of his body, sticking his tongue inside the boy's mouth with fury, passionately rutting back like some bitch in heat.

Stiles moaned and clawed at Derek's back as the older man dropped his hands to his hips, grabbing into his perfectly round arse, forcing him closer. The boy's hands started pulling up his shirt, and for the first time since Stiles had moved ahead, he allowed Derek's lips to leave his. He didn't move back as Derek's shirt fell down, discarded, but moved straight on with the undressing, his hands surprisingly firm as he opened up Derek's jeans.

Derek could only stare in wonder as Stiles moved – slowly – and traced the length of Derek's still covered cock. It made him shudder, and Stiles looked up, enquiringly, but he couldn't speak. Tentatively, the boy wrapped his hand around it, feeling its consistency and his moan at the feeling mixed with Derek's own.

Lust and curiosity led Derek to pull him closer again, and Stiles helped him in opening the shorts he was wearing, lowering it along with his boxers. Derek blinked, shocked to find the boy suddenly naked ahead of him, and beautiful. Stiles was a mix of delicate and firm, mostly silky, his pale skin peppered by brown moles that made him unique – but that didn't surprise Derek. Stiles had always been something else, though he never liked thinking about it, much less would be ready to admit it.

Stiles grinned at him, a mix of surprise and joy before he decided that Derek was far too dressed and it wasn't fair. He pulled down Derek's pants and boxers, and Derek didn't even consider not stepping out of them.

God help him, he was too far gone.

Stiles, on the other hand, seemed to be perfectly in control of what he wanted, stepping back into Derek's personal space and kissing him again, making Derek dizzy as the boy wrapped his hand around both of their cocks. Under Stiles' touch, they rubbed strongly against each other, making them moan. Derek's breath was becoming more erratic, but it was nothing compared to the panting and irregular jerking of Stiles' hips. They could barely kiss now, lips just brushing as they moved together.

It was automatic to bring his hand down to touch Stiles, feeling his cock, the way it throbbed on Derek's hand, while his other hand moved back to squeeze his arse-cheek. Stiles right hand never let go of Derek, even as his left one fisted Derek's hair instead, smashing their mouths together one more time before he was moaning out loud, coming, splattering himself on Derek's hips, and squeezing Derek's cock even harder all through it, before he started moving furiously – determinately and Derek couldn't help thrusting into his hand, chasing the feeling of his touch.

Derek was now far past caring, far past considering, far past angsting about the sheer stupidity of these actions – never even considering the illegality behind it, or the fact that _this_ was the kid of the one person supposed to care for all rules in the city they had grown up in.

In fact, had the Sheriff, Malia and the whole pack stood there watching, Derek wouldn't have been able to stop himself as he jerked ahead, his body shuddering through his orgasm and making a larger mess on their bellies, his mouth moving from Stiles' to bite firmly into his neck.

He didn't even care that it would leave a mark.

It _should_ leave a mark, because _this_ was not something he was letting go off.

Screw everything else.

Well, no. Screw nothing else.

This was it. This was it. This was _all_ of it.

(This time, he would not fail. This time, he wouldn't let go. This time – against all odds – he would make it right).


End file.
